


Semi-Charmed Afterlife

by newtgeiszler (lizardkid)



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Excessive Use of Julian's Name, M/M, Missing Scene, Secret Relationship, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 23:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkid/pseuds/newtgeiszler
Summary: Missing scenes from 1x03, ‘Happy Death Day’.
Relationships: The Captain/Julian Fawcett
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Let’s Get Organised

**Author's Note:**

> “Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo  
> Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo  
> Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo  
> Doo-doo-doo”
> 
> \-- Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind

“Julian,” hissed the Captain, only to suck his breath back through his teeth when he noticed a hand slide slowly between the crack of his tunic. The touch was teasing and light, but the Captain felt his muscles tense at the contact, working against the deep, erratic breaths that kept pushing his stomach up into it. 

“ _Julian_ ,” he tried again, slightly firmer this time, though his voice rose half an octave on the third syllable, thus neutralising any authority he’d managed to muster in the first two. “This isn’t quite what I -- _ah_ \-- what I had in mind when I -- _ah_!”

“Oh, come off it,” Julian teased, visibly smug that the pressure of his palm kept derailing the aborted sentence. A wolfish grin lit up his face as he ducked to whisper into the shell of the Captain’s ear. “I know what ‘get organised’ means,” continued the politician, voice pouring into the Captain like molten honey, soft and hot and slow. He felt it all the way down to the core of himself, where it pooled somewhere below his stomach. “You can fool the rest of them but you can’t,” a pregnant pause, “fool,” and another, “ _me_.” 

“Bally hell, man,” the Captain managed, head spinning, eyes squeezing shut in response to the maddeningly inadequate weight of Julian’s hand pressing against his crotch. “We’re on -- on duty. This dilly-dallying could cost us the -- the mission--” 

A gruff, stuttering noise stuck in his throat when Julian sucked an obscenely wet kiss just below his ear, and then the world tilted on its axis as Julian pressed him harder against the wall with his free hand. The Captain realised somewhat belatedly that his head had fallen back to expose more of his neck and his hips had pressed forward of their own volition, into the solid and unwavering authority of Julian’s hand.

“Oh, on duty, are we, sir?” Julian mouthed against his skin, his low voice and lingering lips winding the Captain tighter and tighter. 

“Julian,” the Captain warned, gulping audibly, scrabbling for control over the situation, “as ranking officer, I order you to -- uh -- to -- um!” 

The words were being swallowed up by his body’s response to Julian’s distracting, insistent fingers travelling up and down the line of his fly, but his sentence stopped abruptly when the fingers stilled. The Captain’s eyes flew open and he stared up at the ceiling with abject bemusement, bereft at the loss of sensation. 

With a smirk, Julian retreated from his full-frontal assault on the Captain’s neck to look him in the eye. The man only had a few inches on the Captain’s height, the same as Havers, but something about having to look _up_ at the politician drove him inexplicably barmy, perhaps because, at six foot tall, it was a rare occurrence to be dwarfed by anyone at all.

“Oh dear,” Julian oozed. “Insubordination? However shall you punish me?”

As his dark gaze flickered hungrily over the Captain’s face, his hand wandered downward to the swagger stick that jutted out perpendicular to the Captain’s hip, clutched by one of two tightly balled fists. Julian ran his fingertips lightly across the Captain’s hand and then, while resolutely maintaining eye contact, let them trail all the way to the tip and back down again.

“Well?” he prompted calmly, even as he wrapped his fingers slowly around the stick and grasped it firmly in his hand. His face was almost impassive, slight curve of his mouth notwithstanding, and so close to the Captain's own that every fleck of gold and blue could be seen in his pale green eyes.

“You--” the Captain gritted out, cut off by Julian pressing his own barely-covered hardness against the Captain’s slacks. “ _Ah_ \-- you -- you--” 

He did it again, grinding shamelessly against him in time with each stroke of his fist, looking mighty pleased with himself as he dipped to press hot kisses against the Captain’s jaw.

“ _Julian…_ ”

It was utterly cruel. It was a coward’s tactic; a dirty, underhanded manoeuvre befitting a dirty, underhanded man. As Thomas would say, though: all’s fair in love and war, and this pertained to both. The Captain was hardly innocent of using unethical means to achieve a satisfactory ending, as their current mission to rid the house of builders exemplified, but it was entirely different being on the receiving end of Julian’s deviousness.

The Captain tried not to think about how much he enjoyed it, how much he liked Julian _knowing_ he enjoyed it, but it was utterly futile. He wanted Julian to touch him so badly that he felt faintly hysterical, felt the desperate noises rising in his throat, threatening to spill out like a dam breaking, the frenzied babble of ‘ _please, please, please, Julian, please, you win, just touch me, for heaven’s sake, just do it, Julian, please'_ that the politician so loved to wring out of him.

When Julian slid his bare leg between his thighs, the Captain knew he’d lost. 

“Strewth,” he whined, mortified by the unfettered need that broke his voice into little more than a whimper as the last of his defences were shattered and a sudden shudder of desperation wholly overwhelmed him. “Please -- I can’t--!” 

“Right, Wixy,” came a voice rounding the corner, causing the Captain to jump out of his skin. “Some of the lads are getting set up in here to--”

“For the love of God!” the Captain shrieked, burying his face against Julian’s neck out of embarrassment, but the politician turned his head to watch them pass with interest.

“Ha-hey!” Julian cried, his smirk replaced by a giddy smile. “Come on -- here’s our chance! Chop chop!” He punctuated the last two words with two inelegant pats of the Captain’s crotch.

With that, Julian extracted himself from the Captain and trundled off down the hallway in hot pursuit. “Keep up, old boy!” he shouted, voice already receding into the distance.

The Captain, stooped over in frustration, could do nothing but press a palm against his mouth, muffle an undignified squeak, and curse the day the trouserless idiot entered his life.


	2. That’s Good Fun

The Captain had managed to ramble about Bernard Montgomery for almost ten minutes as he and Julian crossed the landing, inspecting room after room in search of builders to catch in the act. He had made a conscious effort to tell the story with as much long-winded tedium as possible, knowing how terribly dull Julian found his second-hand war stories. In return for his dry garrulity, the Captain had received only the occasional disinterested remark or muttered interjection from his companion, who had seemed faintly cognizant of it being his punishment and had therefore reluctantly accepted his fate.

Yet it was only partly payback on the Captain’s behalf, only partially a retaliation against Julian’s earlier victory. That Julian would listen at all, or even pretend to, revealed a certain tenderness at odds with the man’s impatient, ill-mannered disposition, and therein lay the true reward. The politician could never feign interest in Robin’s favourite episode of _Red Dwarf_ , nor Fanny’s obsession with Edwardian jewellery, so the Captain understood the significance of being the exception to a rule, however subtle or subconscious, however well-hidden behind long-suffering sighs.

They’d had no luck on their mission, but eventually they did stumble upon Robin and some builders watching a salacious recording. It was being broadcast on one of the small handheld machines that Julian was so fond of. The Captain had tried to look away, to seem disinterested, but Julian’s chest was pressed so close to his shoulder and their recent hallway encounter was so fresh in his mind that he couldn't help but imagine Julian bent over him as depicted on screen, and a hideous blush had risen to his cheeks. 

When Fanny arrived, he’d looked to Julian for support at first, and then validation once the fumbling lie fell out of his mouth: _I… I think you should go and report this to Alison straight away._ Julian had rewarded him with a dopey grin and an exaggerated wink, and the Captain had felt a strange warmth diffuse through him at the sight, part pride and part affection, which he could express only as a shy smile. It was a poor substitute for kissing the ridiculous grin off Julian’s face, but a necessary one. He had quickly glanced back at the recording for fear of acting impulsively and exposing their confidential relationship to Robin.

Now, though, they had escaped the huddle and were heading excitedly up to a quiet loft space above the library, intent on finishing what they had started earlier. Julian led the way and the Captain brought up the rear, urging Julian up the stairs with small, impatient gestures, grumbled orders -- ‘ _that’s it, Julian, quick as you like_ ’ -- and, at one point, a sharp smack on the backside with his drill stick, which made Julian yelp delightedly.

As soon as they reached their rendezvous point, the Captain was upon Julian, balling his fists in his blazer lapels and shoving him straight through a metal step ladder onto the nearest surface: a small, square table fitted against a bookshelf.

“Deary me, old boy,” Julian laughed breathlessly, as the Captain spread his legs apart and insinuated himself between them. “Remind me to show you some _real_ porn, if this is how you react to--”

“Good lord, Julian, will you be quiet?” the Captain growled, grabbing Julian by the thighs to hoist his hips flush against the Captain’s and leaning into Julian’s space until his head hit the bookshelf behind.

Pausing only to slide the cumbersome swagger stick securely beneath his Sam Browne, the Captain redoubled his efforts once Julian had wrapped his long, clumsy legs around the Captain’s waist. With one hand, he grabbed the neck of Julian’s tie to pull him into a bruising kiss, and with the other he reached down to grasp Julian’s half-hardness through his underwear. The overwrought noise Julian made into his mouth combined with the way Julian’s cock jolted eagerly in his loose grip sent a fresh spike of lust through the Captain. He was seized by the sudden image of yanking the man’s underwear down, freeing his own length, and fucking him right there and then. It was a dizzying prospect, and Julian would have been exuberantly on board, he was sure, but the Captain preferred to move a little slower.

The Captain released the man's tie and pressed his hand flat against his chest instead, fingers moving briefly to thumb at Julian's nipple through the cotton shirt, and then upwards toward his collar. With the tips of his fingers, he traced the upper ridge of one collarbone, moving carefully from the centre outward until he met with the collar of Julian's shirt. There, he slipped the flat of his hand beneath it, pressing hard into the tight space until his fingers reached Julian’s nape and his thumb pressed firmly into the topmost button.

Julian broke the kiss to lean into the touch and made a soft noise of appreciation.

“That’s it, good man,” he observed stiffly, settling awkwardly into the authoritative role he’d assumed by manhandling Julian onto the table. It was still taking some getting used to, this dominance. Loath as he was to admit it, the Captain was not a natural leader in the bedroom, much as Julian was not a natural leader outside of it. Yet Julian, who was always so keen to be submissive, found it intolerably difficult to stop giving orders.

As if hearing the Captain’s thoughts, Julian opened his eyes to roll them. “ _C’mon_ ,” he moaned, “I’ve stood in airport queues that took less time to get moving. Seriously, it’s a bloody miracle our lot won the war with you faffing around at the helm.”

The Captain stared at him in disbelief, one hand stilling while the other remained around his throat. “And I’ve met rabid dogs more capable of following simple orders than you, Julian. I told you to -- to _shut up_. I rather meant it.”

Julian lifted a brow at that, sensing the current of tension simmering below the words. “Oh, really?” he smirked. “I suppose you’ll have to shut me up somehow, won't you?”

The subtle guidance gave him a little confidence, but the wink caught the Captain entirely off-guard. 

“What was that?” he frowned, breaking character and removing his hand from Julian's crotch entirely. “Some sort of signal?”

“What?” Julian scowled, upset by the interruption. “You are joking? It's -- it was a knowing wink! It was so obviously a knowing wink!" 

When it became clear, through a series of confused, quintessentially-Captain noises, that he hadn't the faintest clue, Julian continued with exasperation. "Y'know. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, oh I've been so naughty, oh what are you going to do with that big stick, oh dear, sir, are you going to bend me over and give it to me good and hard--"

"Good gracious me!" the Captain interrupted, far pinker now than he'd been with Julian's length in hand. “How on earth am I supposed to discern all that, hm? Star chart? Divine intervention?”

"You just _know_! That’s why it’s called a _knowing_ w--!"

No sooner had they registered the thunder of footsteps upon the staircase and the high-pitched shriek of their names than the door burst open and they turned to see Kitty staring at them, her eager expression falling clean away before their very eyes as she took stock of their position.

"Oh my gosh!” she squealed. “Why are you fighting? Let go of him, please!"

The Captain realised with some surprise that it was he who was being addressed.

"Ah," he said, removing his hand from Julian’s throat to fumblingly retrieve his drill stick. Briefly, he glanced back at Julian, who had nothing to offer him but shocked amusement, and then looked back at Kitty. "I-- Well. Ah. No. No, no, no. You see, it's -- um -- it's not -- we're -- it's just an, erm, a club we're -- trying out. Ah -- bah -- ah… A fighting club. Fight club."

"Secret one," Julian contributed. 

"Secret club, yes. Yes! All in good fun," the Captain agreed, nodding and bouncing agitatedly. "Just the two of us so far, so you mustn't tell anyone, otherwise they'll, um, they'll be very jealous and -- and--"

"And quite upset."

"Yes, yes, and they'll be upset, as, um...” He cleared his throat. “As Julian says. You don't want that, do you?"

Kitty looked between them, twisting nervously from side to side. "No…”

"Good," said the Captain, and stepped away from Julian quickly, tucking his drill stick under his arm while Julian sat up and arranged his shirt tails to more wholly cover his modesty. "Well, ah, what can we do for you, Katherine?"

"Oh!" she grinned, delighted again, though clearly still confused. "Well, Pat said he saw you both heading up here and -- well, I wanted to ask Julian, actually, if you could tell me how babies are made, because Alison's too busy and Pat's too sad."

"Good lord," the Captain grumbled, settling back into his public self and bouncing anxiously on his heels again. "I--I'm sure I haven't the foggiest, but Julian here could probably fill you in on all the gruesome details. Couldn't you?"

Julian huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, fine, I suppose so.”

"Excellent. And I shall continue our reconnaissance downstairs. Meet me in the library when you've finished up here, Jules -- Julian!”

They stared at him both, his error embarrassing to one and baffling to the other, and he thought momentarily to say more, a flurry of gruff half-noises exiting him, but he decided against the risk of digging a deeper hole. Red as a beetroot and struck silent, the Captain hightailed out of the small room post-haste, the shame of his retreat almost as acute as the shame of being caught in flagrante delicto.


End file.
